Running Irons (9 page)

One thing showed right off. Rafter O might
stand to lose some money but they played fair. Chuck stood at the horse’s head and gripped the end of the blindfold, but he made no move to jerk it from the bay’s eyes until Danny had settled down firmly in the saddle.

“Now?” he asked as Danny settled in the leather.

“You watch him, Danny,” Jerome yelled, giving the friendly, if unhelpful advice always handed out to a man about to start riding a bad one. “He’s going to moan with you.”

“He’ll need to when I’m through, boss,” Danny yelled back. “Let her rip, Chuck, boy.”

A quick tug removed the blindfold and Chuck went head first through the corral rails in a flying bound which warned Danny, if he needed more warning, of the bay’s danger potential. Instantly the horse came apart and without bogging its head down between its legs as did so many of its kind as a starter to bucking. From standing like a statue, the horse took off in a series of crow hops, bounding up and lighting down on stiff legs in an effort to jolt its rider out of the saddle by the force of impact. Crow hopping was not hard to handle for an experienced rider, but Danny knew he could expect much more.

Suddenly the horse reared high, chinning the moon and waving forelegs in the air. However, Danny possessed that rare sixth sense so vital to a
bronc peeler in that he could mostly anticipate the horse’s moves and be ready to counter them. Up slid his hands along the reins, gripping just below the connection with the bit. He pulled hard, dragging the horse back to its feet before it could crawfish over on to its back and either throw him or crush him beneath it.

Foiled in its attempt, the bay appeared to go wild with rage. It rocketed across the corral, pitching fence-cornered—leaving the ground in one direction, jack-knifing its hind and forefeet together in mid-air and twisting itself to land at about a forty-five degree angle to the place it took off. While the horse went high and landed hard, double shuffling to change its gait with every bound, Danny found little difficulty in riding the leaps.

Then it happened. The bay swapped ends, going up facing north and landing with its head aimed at the South Pole. With his rider’s instincts Danny knew he was going to be thrown two jumps ahead of the actual happening. Kicking his feet from the stirrup irons, Danny allowed his body to go limp and landed rolling. He saw the bay bounce away from him and Lanky charged into the corral at a gallop, rope swinging ready to throw. On feeling the touch of the rope, the bay quietened down and allowed itself to be led toward the gate.

“Hold it!” Danny called, getting to his feet. “Bandage him again. I’m not through with him yet.”

“What you doing down there then?” asked Chuck.

“Got off to leave him catch his breath,” replied Danny and walked toward the bay once more.

On mounting, he started to ride the bay again. Three more times Danny hit the dirt for the bay was one smart horse and knew how to ring in changes of style. It rainbowed high with arched back and shaking head; sunfished in leaping crescents that made it appear to be trying to land first one then the other shoulder on the ground while allowing the sun to burn its belly; fought on a dime, or pioneered new ground with each leaping bounce; straight bucked by going high from all four feet and on the way down tossing its hindquarters up again in the manner of the big paint stallion which crippled Danny’s uncle, Ole Devil Hardin.
^*
Through all the tricks, except when sent flying, Danny stayed in the saddle and each time down he rose to mount again. To allow a horse the chance of winding up a winner gave it bad ideas; it happened to the bay often enough to turn the animal into an outlaw.

“Give it up while you’re ahead,
amigo,
” Chuck yelled as Danny rose from the fourth throwing.

“Hell yes!” agreed Lanky. “You’ll likely get hurt
bad if you don’t. He’ll go to fighting blind if you keep riding him. We’ll call the bets off if you like.”

“I
don’t
like,” Danny replied. “Seeing’s how I aim to win your money. Set on that bandage again. He don’t know who’s boss.”

“Now me,” grunted Lanky, giving Danny an admiring glance, “I’d say he knows right well who’s boss. It’s
you
that don’t.”

“Likely,” grinned Danny and headed toward the bay once more.

Standing by the fence, Ella Watson watched Danny mount the bay again. A keen student of human nature, she found Danny interesting and a young man with certain possibilities—if he was what she expected. Her eyes went to Jerome who stood at her side.

“That’s a real game boy,” she remarked. “He’s new here though, isn’t he?”

“Just today rode in,” replied the rancher. “It was him found Sammy and Pike. I took him on to ride for Bench J.”

Further conversation ended as the bay, given its head, started to buck. A fresh danger had entered the fight, just as Lanky predicted. In addition to the normal risks attendant to riding a bad horse, the bay panicked and began to buck blind; not watching where it went as long as it shook the hated man-thing from its back. Desperately Danny fought to keep the bay’s head up; always of prime
importance when taking a bad one. However, he had been shaken badly by the throws and felt himself tiring. Night was coming and soon he would not be able to see enough to continue riding. Yet he could see no way of ending the bay’s fight.

Twice he just managed to swing the bay clear of the corral rails and prevented a collision. Still bucking blind, the horse charged across the corral, headed for the other side of the enclosure. Only this time Danny felt too exhausted to argue the matter.

“Go ahead, you blasted fool critter!” he growled. “Run in head on and bust your fool neck happen that’s how you want it. Only I’m not fixing to go with you.”

Yells of warning rang out. Hurriedly those onlookers lining the section of rail toward which the bay rushed leapt backward. Jerome gave a low curse and opened his mouth to yell for the doctor. Everybody watched Danny being carried straight at the rails and expected to see horse and rider pile head-first into the stout timber.

At the last moment Danny swung his right leg forward, up and over the saddle horn, thrusting himself clear. Even as he lit down, he heard the crash of the bay’s collision with the corral rails. Only the give of the rails saved the horse from a serious injury and even so the bay rocked backward, staggering and winded by the impact. Danny
whirled and ran back, going into the saddle, catching up the reins and applying his spurs. Weakly the bay responded with a few mild pussy-back jumps, arching its back like a hound-scared cat and bouncing up into the air about a third of the height previously managed. Then the horse halted, Danny raked its sides again and brought off another short spell of fighting. The next time Danny used his spurs, the bay stood with heaving flanks and hanging head. Even without the excited and delighted whoops of the crowd who came crowding into the corral, Danny knew he had won. With heaving chest, he slid from the bay’s saddle and leaned against the animal’s sweat-lathered side.

“Are you all right, Danny?” Tommy asked, reaching the blond Ranger first.

“I—I’ve—felt better,” admitted Danny, then grinned as Lanky thrust through the excited crowd and held out a fistful of money. “Fact being, I feel better right now. Thanks, Lanky. Loser walks the hoss, don’t he?”

“Yep,” Lanky agreed and shot out a hand to grab a suddenly-departing Chuck by the collar. “Which same you reckoned you’d do it.”

“Hell, everybody knows I’m a liar,” answered Chuck and reached for the bay’s reins. “You wait, I’ll get me a ladder, rest it again you, climb up and beat in your knee-caps.”

“Go ahead, Chuck,” Ella smiled. “I’ll save you
an extra big drink. The rest of you, first one’s on the house.”

Which same started a rush for the saloon. Jerome came over to ask if Danny felt all right and, finding his new hand to be a mite tuckered out but in one piece, slipped a ten-dollar bill into a grimy hand and remarked he had won fifty off the owner of the Rafter O, then joined his party and returned to the bar.

“Go on in, Mousey, Tommy,” Ella smiled as everybody else streamed away. “I want to congratulate the winner.” After the little blonde and Tommy left, Ella turned to Danny. “You rode well, I never thought you’d get back the last time.”

“I had to, ma’am,” Danny replied.

“Why?”

“I didn’t have any money to pay off with if I lost the bets.”

Watching the blond youngster headed for the bar, Ella Watson smiled. Her guess had been correct. A young man that keen to lay hands on money had possibilities and might make a good recruit for her illegal side interests.

C
ALAMITY
J
ANE HATED RIDING ANY KIND OF VEHICLE
unless she held the ribbons and controlled the team. So she did not enjoy her trip to Caspar City and felt relieved when the driver drew rein before the depot at her destination. Luckily the stagecoach had not been one of the main runs, or she might easily have found the driver to be an acquaintance who could let slip her identity and wind her up in an early grave.

Throwing open the stage’s door, the agent gallantly offered his hand to help Calamity alight, ogling the exposed ankle and lower calf with frank interest.

“Tuck ’em in, friend,” Calamity ordered as she swung herself on to the sidewalk and looked around.

“Huh?” the man grunted.

“Your eyes, they’re bugged out a mite. Come down to the Cattle Queen tonight and look all you want, I’ll be paid for it then.”

Flushing a little, the depot agent jerked around and yelled for the driver to drop down the gal’s bags. There were no other passengers to alight at Caspar and Calamity took her two bags, carrying them along the street toward the batwing doors of the Cattle Queen.

“Calam, gal,” she mused. “Just keep remembering you’re Martha, call me Marty, Connelly. You learned a lot that last night in Austin, don’t forget it or you’ll be a long time dead.”

One thing Calamity had early learned was to face up to the truth. It would do her no good to pretend danger did not lay waiting for her on this chore. To do so might make her careless. So she intended to remember the danger and in doing so would be more likely to recall all the details drummed into her during the evening and morning before she left Austin to start her task.

Sucking in a breath, Calamity pushed open the batwing doors and entered the Cattle Queen’s bar room. It was the first time she had ever entered a saloon as a potential employee and she found the
feeling novel. The time being shortly after noon, only a few customers sat at the tables or stood by the bar. Looking around, Calamity found only one girl to be present. That one sure looked a tough handful. She had red hair, stood Calamity’s size and weighed at least twenty pounds heavier. From the way the red-head’s dress fitted her, and the firm muscles apparent in her arms and legs, Calamity figured she would be as strong as they came; the kind of girl Calamity sought to tangle with when employed at her normal trade.

“Looking for somebody?” asked the buxom redhead.

“The boss. That you?”

“Me? Nope. The name’s Phyl. I work here. Come on up, I’ll take you to the boss. What’s your name?”

“Marty Connelly. I’m looking for work.”

“Didn’t take you for a circuit-riding gal-preacher,” Phyl sniffed. “Come on, we’ll see Miss Ella.”

Following the other woman, and holding down a temptation to plant a kick on the plump butt end so alluringly offered for such treatment, Calamity crossed the room and climbed the stairs. They walked along a passage and Phyl knocked on one of the doors.

“Gal to see you, boss,” she said, looking in.

“Show her in, Phyl,” replied a female voice.

On entering the room, Calamity took her first look at the woman who might be the leader of Caspar County cow thieves. All in all, Calamity felt a mite disappointed, for Ella had not long been out of bed and wore a dressing-gown which prevented the other girl from gaining any impression of how the saloonkeeper might stack up in a ruckus.

“So you’re looking for work,” Ella said. “Where were you last?”

“At the Golden Slipper in Austin.”

“Why did you quit?”

“That’s my business.”

Hardly had the words left Calamity’s mouth when she felt a hand clamp on her wrist and her arm was twisted behind and up her back in a practiced move. Phyl was strong and real capable; Calamity gave her that as the twisted arm sent a wave of pain shooting through her. Holding down her first instinct, Calamity let out a yelp of pain. She figured showing her considerable knowledge of self-defense might make Ella suspicious and anyway if she tangled with Phyl, win or lose she would not be in any shape to get on with the chore which brought her to Caspar. So, instead of stamping her heel down hard on Phyl’s toe then giving the buxom girl an elbow where it would do most good, Calamity stood still and croaked to be released.

“When Miss Ella asks a question,” Phyl answered, still holding the trapped arm, “she expects an answer.”

Pain almost made Calamity forget her act, but she fought down her desires and whined, “Leggo my arm! I quit ’cause I didn’t like it there.”

“Why not?” Ella asked.

“T—too much law.”

The grip on Calamity’s arm relaxed and she brought the limb in front of her to rub the aching wrist. Looking sullen—and promising herself that she would hand-scalp that fat, overstuffed, loud-mouthed, hawg-stupid, cat-house cull before she left Caspar—Calamity awaited the next development.

“Are you in trouble with the law?” Ella inquired.

“Me?” yelped Calamity, trying to sound just right. “Naw! Why should I be?”

“You mean they couldn’t prove anything?”

“Yes—no,” Calamity answered. “I—I got tired of Austin.”

“Then why come here?” Ella asked.

“This’s as far as I’d money to go.”

While speaking, Calamity watched Ella and gained the impression that the other might be a real tough gal in her own right and not entirely dependent on Phyl to protect her interests.

For her part, Ella studied Calamity with equal
interest. Shorter hair than the usual fashion, a tan to the skin that make-up on the face could not hide, hands roughened by hard work; all the signs of a girl who had spent some time in the female section of the State Penitentiary. A hard cuss, too, or Ella missed her guess. Maybe Phyl had come off easier than she deserved in twisting the newcomer’s arm. A telegraph message to the Golden Slipper would clear up the matter of why the girl left Austin. If, as Ella suspected, the town marshal saw the girl on her way for reasons of unproven dishonesty, well, the Cattle Queen had use for such talents.

“What’s your name?” Ella said.

“Marty Connelly.”

“All right, Marty. I’ll take you on. And get this, I run a quiet house. You don’t start lifting wallets, or finding a partner to run a badger game—and don’t try looking innocent with me—unless I give the word. There’s a small place out back, half-a-dozen rooms in it. If you want to sleep with any of the customers, you go there and do it through me and I get all you make. I’ll give you your cut out of it. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

Wishing she knew more about the working conditions of saloon girls, Calamity did not reply for a moment. She hung her head and stared down at the floor, trying to decide what would be the best answer. Then she made her decision. Ella could not
suspect her and be trying to lay a trap. Maybe the conditions might be a mite harsh but probably the saloon keeper figured a girl without money would be forced to accept them.

“All right, Miss Ella,” she said. “I’ll take on.”

“I figured you would,” Ella answered mockingly and Calamity knew her guess must be right. “What rooms have we vacant, Phyl?”

“Only Mousey’s,” Phyl replied. “I’ll put her there.”

“Huh huh,” Ella grunted and nodded her head. It might be as well to keep the new girl in ignorance of the saloon’s other business for a time and Mousey knew less than any of the other girls about what went on outside work hours. “See Marty steeled in, Phyl.”

“Sure, boss. Come on, Marty.”

In the passage, Phyl grinned at Calamity. “You’ll find Miss Ella a damned good boss to work for, as long as you play straight by her. If you don’t, me ’n’ Maisie, she’s the other boss gal’ll tend your needings and, kid, that’s painful.”

At that moment the tall, slim, untidy shape of Dean Soskice appeared at the stairhead. The young lawyer slouched along the passage by the two girls, glancing at Calamity in passing and walked toward Ella’s room, entering without knocking.

“Who’s he?” asked Calamity.

“The boss’s lawyer,” Phyl grunted. “So you
just keep good and real respectful around him, Marty gal.”

“Like that, huh?” grinned Calamity with a knowing wink.

“Just like that. Now me, I’d prefer more muscle on mine.”

“And me.”

“Well, come on. I’ll show you where you bed down. The kid you’ll be with’s all right and not in your class. There’ll be a meal downstairs in about an hour.”

Ella Watson looked up from her work as Soskice entered, although she knew that only one person in town would have thought to enter her private quarters without showing the courtesy of knocking first.

“Who was the girl with Phyl?” asked the lawyer.

“A new one. She came in on the stage. Got run out of Austin by the law, and has been in the State Penitentiary or I miss my guess. Anyway, I’ll have a message sent to the Golden Slipper asking about her.”

“Do you always hire jailbirds, Ella?”

“They’re the safest kind. Naïve fools like Mousey are all right for attracting certain kinds of cowhand, but you daren’t let her kind know you’re doing anything illegal. You can’t rely on, or trust, kids like Mousey, but you can trust a dishonest dame as long as she doesn’t know too much and has something to lose.”

“You should know,” sniffed Soskice, sinking into a chair. “Why’d you chance going out with those two cowhands who were killed?”

“They had a small bunch of unbranded stuff but were scared by Gooch. So I went along to show them how safe it was. Only it wasn’t. Gooch found us.”

“There’s nothing to tie you in with them, is there?”

“Not a thing. Don’t worry, you’re in no danger. Only the two cowhands knew I was going with them. I met them after we closed and wore men’s clothing. Nobody would have recognized me, even if they’d seen me. Why didn’t you come here before?”

“I—I was busy all yesterday,” answered the lawyer.

“What were you doing?” asked Ella bitterly. “Packing ready to run if I was proved to be involved and caught?”

A dull red flush crept into the lawyer’s cheeks and sullen anger etched itself on his face. However, he held his comments and thoughts back. Much as he hated to admit the fact, even to himself, he needed Ella Watson’s aid to carry out his plans much more than she needed him for hers. Without Ella, he could get nowhere for the cowhands regarded him with amused contempt, ignoring the fact that he bore the results of an Eastern college
education and felt he ought to be honored and respected for it.

“It wasn’t that,” he said. “You know we have to be careful. What do you make of the man who found the bodies?”

“Danny Forgrave? He’s a cowhand, likes money and isn’t too worried how he gets it,” Ella answered and told about the bets Danny made the previous evening.

“Sounds a likely one for you then,” remarked the lawyer. “Is he good with his guns?”

“Not better than fair. Either Wren or Stocker could take him.”

“You haven’t heard from the packing plant about the next shipment they’ll want, have you?”

“Not yet, but I ought to some time this week. We’ve a fair bunch held at the hideout, all wearing Stocker’s brand,” she replied then looked in a calculating manner at Soskice. “What’re you getting out of this, Dean?”

“Huh?” grunted the lawyer.

“I’m in it for money. Not because I hate the big ranchers for working and building something my old man didn’t have the guts, intelligence or ability to make. I pay the cowhands to steal, to take all the chances, then get the money back off them in the saloon. It’s all clear profit for me. What do you get out of it?”

For some reason Ella knew her question would
not be answered. Soskice looked around the room, down at the floor, anywhere but at her and when he spoke, the words had nothing to do with her question.

“The ranchers are getting riled about the stealing. Maybe they’ll call in outside help.”

“Not another bounty hunter, after what happened to Sammy and Pike,” Ella assured him. “And only the county sheriff can call in the Rangers. I don’t reckon Farley Simmonds would chance that.”

“I don’t know about that. He moved fast enough to send to Ysaleta and get word about that cowhand. I saw him on the way here. It seems that Forgrave pulled out of Ysaleta a few steps ahead of being told to go.”

“I thought so. That boy’ll be useful to us if I can get to him, and
that
won’t be hard. But you didn’t answer my question, Dean.”

“Maybe I do it so I can be close to you.”

While Ella doubted if Soskice ever did anything for anybody unless he saw a very good profit motive coming his way, she did not mention the thought. For all his faults, Soskice could sure make love and she reckoned that she might as well get something out of their association.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go tell Phyl to send a telegraph message to the Golden Slipper in Austin and find out about Marty Connelly. Go wait in the
bedroom and when I’m through we’ll see how close we can get.”

Not knowing that her
bona fides
were to be checked, Calamity set about making herself comfortable. She took a liking to her roommate from the start and found the feeling mutual. Having only just left her bed—the previous night’s celebrations lasted very late—Mousey wore only her nightdress; but she bustled around showing Calamity where to unpack and chattering away like she had not talked for weeks and looked for a chance to do so.

Although the girls’ room was anything but grandiose—it consisted of a couple of small beds, a dressing table, washstand and a small cupboard for storing the bulk of their clothes—Mousey appeared to be highly satisfied.

“I never had anything like this before,” she told Calamity, clearing her belongings out of two of the dressing-table’s drawers. “Always lived in a shack. Six of us kids shared one room, it had a dirt floor and we used to pass down clothes one from the next. Boy, this is living here.”

“Yeah,” Calamity answered. “Where’s a gal take a bath?”

“Down the street at Ling Sing’s Chinese Laundry. He runs a bath-house at the back. I’ll come with you, but let’s grab a meal first.”

All in all, Calamity found Mousey to be quite a
talker. By the time they reached the small staff dining room, Calamity knew all about Tommy and the little blonde’s intentions in that direction. It seemed that while Mousey enjoyed the glamor of being a saloon-girl, she still appeared to be quite willing to return to a small cabin with a dirt floor—provided Tommy went with her.